


It's Your Fault

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Series: If I'm Falling [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is Broken and Getting More Broken, F/M, Forced Cunnilingus, Forced Penile Insertion, Kate Rapes Derek, Kate is a werejaguar, PTSD, Rape, kate is evil, underage (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate's back and ready to pick up where she left off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during the end of Season 3B and Season 4. Heed the rape warnings.
> 
> Also, spoilers through Season 4 (and make note: this was mostly written during the end of 2015 with absolutely no regard to any further canon).
> 
> Unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Apologies for any medical mistakes.

~*~

Derek has an interlude between one bed and the next, courtesy of Kate.

Of course, Chris is still somewhere in France running from his family’s decimation, and Derek doesn’t begrudge him that at all. Laura did the same thing, and Derek would have done it himself except he wasn’t in any state to be left alone, being sixteen years old notwithstanding.

He doesn’t wonder about the Sheriff. Not yet anyway. He knows (thinks) he hasn’t earned the right.

The whole trip down to Mexico—dry dust and long stretches of nothing-highway—Derek curls under the back seat, counting his fingers again and again and trying not to cry when he keeps counting five on each hand.

Kate ignores him for the most part. She drives, lead foot, radio wailing. Although, more than once, she yells at him to shut up when he counts so loud he can be heard over the radio.

At night, Derek curls tighter while she touches him, drags claws and fingernails over his chest, biting at his neck, twisting her hands in his hair.

She makes him lick her, panting through electric shocks from her baton, until she comes. Then she pats his head and murmurs endearments while she jerks him harshly. He never comes, no matter—or because of—how hard she tugs.

It makes her laugh though, to watch him stand at attention, to arch into it only to fall back limp everywhere but there.

It takes everything in him not to scream when she touches him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks one night when she’s made him penetrate her. He holds perfectly still, aware that there is no condom and she’s hotter than she’s ever felt before, burning against him.

“Oh, sweetie,” she sighs, hand reaching to chuck gently at his chin. He flinches and she laughs. She doesn’t sound as cruel tonight, but Derek thinks that’s just because she hasn’t been using the baton so he only _thinks_ she’s being nicer.

Then she snaps her hips down, grinding against him, and he sighs softly. Irritation. That’s what he feels.

He shoves weakly at her shoulders, trying to dislodge her. “Chris asked me about you,” he says, and she laughs, bouncing harder.

He winces as her nails dig into his ribs, claws reaching in to poke through the bones.

“And what did my dear brother have to say about your sordid little story?” She leans down to press her mouth against his. He grunts, turning his head. She pulls back and giggles. “I bet he said you deserved it, brought it on yourself. I mean,” she rises up only to slam down harder, “that is how we treat male rape victims as a whole, isn’t it?”

“So you admit you raped me,” he says, throat dry, cracking with dust and fear and something metallic.

“Oh, sweetie,” she laughs, drawing the words out as she fucks harder. “I never pretended it was anything else. I mean, yeah, we had awesome sex, but you were always a little shy. I’ve no compunctions that even if you didn’t realize it, I really did rape you. And it was amazing.”

He whimpers at that, eyes squeezed shut, breathing harshly through his nose. She clenches around him, orgasm flooding her with the stench of satisfaction.

She pats his cheek when she pulls off. “Still can’t come?” She almost sounds sympathetic as she grips him, tugging sharply. He whines, pulling away from her, and she follows him, fingers tightening, nails growing to press into him.

Blood drips down, pooling over his groin as she shreds the organ, watching as it slowly heals just so she can rip it apart again.

He bites off his grunts and groans, stifling sounds. She hushes him anyway, patting his cheek with a hand tacky with drying blood. With his drying blood.

He lurches away from her and dry heaves as she pats at his back.

“Sweetie,” she murmurs, nuzzling against his back, licking at the sweat gathered there. “Oh, sweetie.”

He throws up.

She stops touching him though, half-murmured regrets that he’s not as innocent, not as easy to deflower as he was at sixteen.

Derek thinks she’s lying to herself, that’s it’s easier when he’s still doped up on wolfsbane from the Calaveras’ guns, but he doesn’t correct her. Instead, he presses his fingers against his skin, counting silently to five, to ten, to five and ten until she locks him away wrapped in wolfsbane vines, kissing him chastely.

He fights until he’s too tired to stop the tears, cries himself to sleep, and when he wakes up, he’s sixteen again and he doesn’t remember.

~ Fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if my tags are inadequate. Please don't hesitate to let me know if something bothers you, needs more tags, or even if you just liked it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
